


A Snug Fit

by Aondeug



Category: Chronicles of the Kencyrath - P. C. Hodgell
Genre: Gen, twinswap AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9827438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aondeug/pseuds/Aondeug
Summary: Tori had complained that something at Tentir needed to be retrieved. He had been insistent enough on it to sneak out and steal the coat himself. For this reason, the coat remains unburnt despite Tori's demands that it must be. For this reason, Greshan stands as an advisor and confidant to the Highlord. (twinswap au)





	

To be Highlord was primarily a mess of paperwork. For a culture so intensely bibliophobic, the Kencyrath demanded a great deal of reading and writing from its leader. For practicality, she noted as she picked up another correspondence. Written word was simply that much more convenient to share over long distances. Still as she opened the letter she couldn’t help but notice the hypocrisy of it all. Two decades of living among her own kind had taught Jame that the Kencyrath was a bundle of conflicting agendas and ideals, a hive of hypocrisy.

The letter itself was simple enough. A correspondence from Harn in the Southern Host. Fairly standard updates about the state of Kothifir and the Kencyr stationed there. Blessedly nothing horrid appeared to be happening in the city. No more than the rapidly increasing Changes at least. Which was a crucial problem, yes, but at least the city stood and, with it, their finances. A word of thanks was passed to Harn for the update as well as some brief comments on the situation. 

 

The letter and its response were then set aside and she felt a touch of relief. She’d heard nothing of Tori slipping out anywhere, as always followed by havoc. Not from Harn, not from Mt. Alban, nor from any of the Keeps whose letters she had read so far. Thank God. His escapes tended to be discovered after he’d spent a time being quiet, as he was now. A quiet which the Women’s World seemed more than willing to uphold on his behalf.

 

“You don’t have to put up with that,” the voice of her long-dead uncle said, “I dare say that it’s rather disrespectful of them to deign to withhold information from the Highlord.”

 

She shifted a bit, rolling her shoulders. When he spoke his coat had a tendency to cling to her tighter. As though he were there in person, resting a hand upon her shoulder. “I’m a lady as well, dear uncle,” she responded out loud. There were none to hear her say as much over the roar of the fire. So she felt. He’d likely scold her for that level of trust, as only a man assassinated can.

 

“Hardly,” he said back confidently, “Perhaps where the matter of sex is concerned, but in the matter of upbringing and attitude? What truly matters? Nonsense!”

 

There it was again, his insistence of her being a Lord. A proper one, unlike the father she’d suffered under. Unlike Caldane and Adric whom he mocked. Rightly, she felt. Always bumbling and demanding of her. What positives had she learned of Lords in her time among the Riverland Kencyr though? She opened another letter and grimaced, “Not a stunning endorsement there. I’ve half a mind to declare Trishien the most sensible of our lot.” He scoffed at that, she knew. The hold on the fabric lightened a tad. He never liked being too close when he was being admonished or mocked. Their uncle had quite the ego. “That philosophical matter aside, they’re hardly withholding information,” she continued, “I’ve yet to ask for it. What secrets the Women’s World keeps are theirs. Trinity knows they’ve precious little as is.”

 

Wasn’t that the truth. An “education” of being quiet, sequestered from the rest of society, forced into masks and dresses so stiff one  _ couldn’t  _ have bad posture. She’d caught the little Caldane who followed her brother about outside of the Halls once, practicing what had once been denied herself until her brother had been chased out. And yet even then hadn’t Jame a deal more freedom than her? Not good freedom mind, but freedom nonetheless. Enough to wear clothes more suitable for learning the Senethar under the noses of Lords for one.

 

“So you say, until their little secrets cause you to lose something,” he said still keeping his distance as she wrote, “What living family we have left isn’t helped by their hiding things. He could be at the Barrier for all you’re aware.” That last statement had a touch of condescension behind it.  _ For what dear dearest uncle? My refusal to act as you see fit? That the women continued their games in peace? Both? _ She figured it was a bit of both.

 

Another letter was answered and set aside. Briefly she pondered what progress Kindrie had been making on his half of the things. Probably substantially more than she. That’s what tended to be the cast. “Either of them could be at the Barrier, Tori especially. However, I personally doubt that's the case right now. He’s just sulking. You know how he gets,” she said as she frowned at a letter addressed to her from Caldane. This she pushed to the side. He would be answered soon. He had to be given the sort of man he was. It could wait for a bit longer though.

 

“Yes, yes I unfortunately do,” he said mockingly. He stepped back again in his coat fashion as she grabbed another letter with more aggression than was typical. Occasionally useful advice and family or no, there were limits on how he was to treat Tori. Limits he occasionally overstepped and which he must have felt he had again. He hadn’t. She simply detested Caldane that much. “What I meant to say,” he said, softening his tone and leaning in closely once more, “is that I understand how very stubborn he can be. It’s simply rather frustrating to see your good will towards him squandered so.”

 

Again the coat seemed tighter, taking on a greater hold. She felt almost wholly enveloped in the garment, as though she was pulled into a kindly hug. She rolled her shoulders again, roughly, trying to push him back. She doubted his sincerity at times, as now. Still a part of her was unwilling to give up on him just yet. There were none who understood, after all. None who knew the dark violent imaginings of hers. Certainly none who’d shrug them off or accept them even. No, they’d declare her as mad as her father. He had a point though, their uncle. Tori complained and hid, brushing off her affections whenever he could, as though she were as detestable as their father. “I’m attempting to get work done, Greshan,” she said curtly.

 

“Of course you are. Dutiful Highlord that you are,” he said with a tone far too measured and calm. You didn’t trust Riverlanders at their word, especially not when voiced like this. He stayed silent for a time. Not gripping at her, not breathing down her neck. Only for a moment however before he spoke up again, “One final word?” She grunted in assent as she opened the letter from Caldane at least. “You’ve brushed off my suggestions before, but I think they’re pertinent  to bring up again. What with your brother’s little episode lately.”

 

Jame tossed the letter down and stood up. She grabbed the cloth of her uncle’s coat roughly and thrust the thing off, though a voice begged her not to. His, she knew. The coat was thrown to the side of her room, uncomfortably near the fireplace. She sat back down with a huff. “Let that be your answer, uncle,” she said coldly as he fretted about the flames, “Now if you’ll pardon me I have business to attend to.”

 

He scowled from his corner and let out a hiss of, “But of course,” before falling silent once more. This time for the rest of the night. She was going to burn him one of these days. His hypocrisies were beyond counting, and hers rose with them. Yet a part of her agreed. A part wished to make Tori yield. To force him to heel. He was her brother however, to harm or cherish. No coat whispering of drops of blood would be heeded. She had business to attend to after all. Honor, whatever it meant, depended on it.

 


End file.
